


Of Tinned Turkey and Hilltop Hooch

by Lori_S21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: It's a Jesus/Daryl Christmas Fic! Paul simply loves Christmas, Daryl is grouchy and suspicious and Paul swears that the hooch wasn't brewed in a toilet - he promises.Now with an extra bonus chapter wherein Daryl unwraps his present (hint: it’s Paul!). Please note the rating change. Chapter 1 is firmly PG territory. Chapter 2 most definitely is not…Happy holidays!It's been a rough time for Desus fans. Come and enjoy some sweet and sexy festive cheer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **After overdosing on Christmas songs and Walking Dead sadness, I said to myself: “Self; it’s been a horrible week for this pairing. Take a break from your intense WIP and write something fun and festive!” So here you go, an early Christmas present to my favourite ship and fandom. I hope you like and that you’re all doing better. He’s never really gone. He’s ours now.**  
>    
> **Please tell me what you think.**

“Don’t be mad.”

Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia stood outside of his - _their,_ thrillingly new territory - trailer door, purposefully blocking Daryl’s entry. He was using his tiny but strong body as a human shield and it was vaguely amusing yet somewhat unsettling. There was something odd about the way he folded his arms in a defensive posture, holding his trademark leather trench coat tight around his body. Daryl used every ounce of willpower not to make a ‘flasher’ joke though the comparison is irresistible and the image kind of appealing. His cheeks flush at the thought.

Instead he raised an eyebrow and tried to fully assess the situation with a level head. Paul was wearing his usual getup, cargo pants and combat boots. He wore his hair loose under his favourite beanie and was shifting about instead of standing perfectly still as was his usual custom. Perhaps he was cold? Daryl shivered from the chilled air and the fact Paul still wasn’t letting him in definitely fell into behaviour that could be classed as ‘shifty.’ They could be warming each other up right now.

Daryl narrowed his eyes in suspicion and placed his hands on his hips, just for effect. He can play along. “When you say that, it’s usually ‘cos you done something bad.”

The mischievous flicker in Paul’s eyes did little to reassure him. He’s seen that flicker. He _knows_ that flicker. It generally comes right before he cops a sneaky feel of your ass in public. Or as a precursor to stealing the last slice of apple pie. He is shameless and this is most concerning.

“It’s not bad per-se…” Paul began, beautiful eyes wide with innocence.

“What have you done?” Daryl cut him off bluntly. He took a step closer, taking full advantage of their size difference to crowd the smaller man against the door. And Paul just let him do it. For some unfathomable reason, Daryl thought, Paul really seems to like being close to him too. He could easily reverse their positions, something Daryl never forgets no matter how sweetly he looks up at him. Images of flattened soda cans and less innocent scenes flashed through his mind. Of being pinned to a mattress, Paul’s lithe body pressing against his, over and over until his breath comes fast…

Paul bit his lower lip, peered up at Daryl with those baby blues through his lashes. His long line of throat was exposed as Daryl caged him in his arms, hands flat against the door. He knew that Paul was doing it deliberately. It was devastatingly distracting. Paul slipped a hand around the firm curve of Daryl’s waist, squeezing ever so slightly over the material of his shirt. Daryl decided that is quite enough of that unless he fesses up, or at least until they are somewhere private.

“Paul…” He growled out as a warning, moved his face closer as the other man smirked. He tried to get a read on him. Paul was projecting confidence but the clench of his fingers, the way he was pulling at his lip with his teeth, his accelerated breathing - not seduction as Daryl originally thought, but nervousness.

That was new.

“Well…” Paul began, voice a low rumble, warm breath brushing over Daryl’s throat and he had to fight not to move closer. “I was thinking, you know how you were saying that Christmas was always pretty bleak growing up?”

Daryl blinked at the unexpected topic. ‘Pretty bleak’ was putting it mildly. He has some hazy memories of his mama making an effort before she died. A turkey, decorated plastic tree and everything. Anything after that was trying to avoid his daddy’s belt or later, getting completely wasted with Merle. He knows that Paul’s christmases at the group home weren’t much better. A second hand toy if you were lucky that would be stolen or destroyed by one of the bigger kids later on. His heart ached for the lonely boy Paul had been, they had both been, but the world was tough and even worse now.

He shuddered and Paul squeezed his hip, hand sliding under layers to trace patterns on bare skin, comforting and exciting. His eyes were bright and fond and sometimes Daryl can barely breathe with how grateful he is for this man in front of him. How much he loves him even if he can’t ever express it fully.

He jolted his mind back to the present which was fine enough.

“Go on…” He murmured, curiosity piqued. 

And then Paul smiled broadly, full of hope and it was so beautiful. “I wanted you to have a good memory.”

He deftly reached around Daryl, wriggling out of his grip to open the trailer door to reveal…

That Christmas has vomited all over their living room.

Seriously.

Daryl gasped, hardly believing his eyes. “Paul! What the _hell_?”

It had turned into a grotto. There was a tree. A real one, he could smell it - so tall it bent over double. God knows how Paul fit it through the door. It was decorated with fairy lights just like the ones from when he was little and there were presents underneath. A tin foil star sat proudly on top and a set of scavenged baubles reflected the light in tones of red, gold and green. And there was tinsel, streamers and flashing lights _everywhere_. Strung up haphazardly all over the trailer, as if Paul had gone festively bonkers. He only just noticed the gentle crooning of Bing Crosby, longing for a White Christmas coming from Paul’s wind-up gramophone. 

He stepped inside, taking it all in, completely overwhelmed.

“I found this store, ‘Crazy Cal’s Christmas Cabin’ tucked away in the woods, not too far from the city border.” Paul explained sheepishly. “I guess Christmas decs aren’t really a priority in the apocalypse so I helped myself.”

Daryl gaped. “Is it even Christmas?” His voice was all squeaky and his throat was tight, fairy lights blurring together as he took it all in. There was even a decorative blushing Santa with his pants dropped, mooning the room. Pure class.

“Close enough,” Paul shrugged, hovering by Daryl’s side. “I asked Eugene when he thought it was and he went into a long winded explanation about seasons and sunsets and I stopped listening… We have everything we need, including some of Hilltop’s finest homemade moonshine - I’ve been assured it wasn’t brewed in a toilet. And also some very questionable Christmas dinner in a can for later! You can’t turn that down, very delicious…”

Daryl’s thumb found its way to his mouth and he chewed at a thumbnail - an old habit. He turned to Paul, realising with some surprise that he was babbling. Paul Rovia was actually nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, darting glances at Daryl.

He lunged for Paul and pulled the smaller man into his arms, barely taking in his surprised expression. He stooped over so he could bury his face in his hair, knocking his hat off in the process. He took in the scent of him, mixed with cinnamon and spice - he’d even managed to make it smell like Christmas in here. Daryl held him in a tight bear hug and all the air whooshed out of Paul’s lungs in relief (or because Daryl was holding him too tight - too bad).

“You’re mad,” He stated gruffly. “You risked yer neck getting this for me?” He tried to soften his tone as he really wasn’t very angry at all.

“It’s for me too,” Paul laughed shakily, winding his arms around Daryl’s middle. “And I had help.”

Daryl groaned, head butting Paul lightly in the shoulder. “Oh God, who?”

“Enid and Tara.” 

He groaned _again_. Harder. “Not Tara.”

“Afraid so.” His tone was so gleeful that Daryl had to pull back and wipe the smirk off his face using his mouth. Repeatedly. Kissing him over and over until they both were breathless, clinging to each other for dear life. That’ll show him.

He slipped his hands lower, parting Paul’s coat so he could run his hands over his toned chest, pausing only when he suddenly remembered another burning question. “What’re you wearing?” 

He stepped back and couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter at the sight of Paul’s T-shirt. Fitted black cotton, with a cartoon Jesus in a Santa hat with the screaming scarlet legion: ‘Jesus Loves You!’

“It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.” Paul beamed. 

“You’re taking that off right now,” Daryl threatened, pulling him back into his arms. He laid another kiss on him, this one chaste and sweet, not just a thank you for the mad Christmas, but for everything that he meant to him.

“I take it you like it then? Our Christmas I mean, not just the fabulous shirt?” Paul asked casually, trying not to sound too eager though his face was lit up like Christmas morning, eyes sparkling. 

_Our Christmas._ He liked the sound of that very much. 

He held that gorgeous, flushed face in his hands, tried very hard not to beam back at him. “Yeah I like it. You’re nuts, though.” He added again for good measure. 

He slid his arms naturally around the smaller man’s waist just as Paul slung his arms over his shoulders. They stood so close together, smiling and taking each other in. Daryl Dixon doesn’t dance but they swayed together. The music was soothing and the lights were pretty. Paul was beautiful and all his and he couldn’t wait to unwrap his presents. _And_ Paul. Something he growled into Paul’s ear only too happily.

“Merry Christmas, Daryl.” Paul said softly, eagerly leaning into his touch.

“Yeah and you, you menace.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A cheeky bonus chapter. I said this was an early Christmas present for my favourite ship/fandom. Some of you clearly like your Desus a little less PG so I guess this caters to everyone. NOTE THE RATING CHANGE! Enjoy, and do let me know what you think. I love to hear from you.**

Daryl Dixon never failed to surprise Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia.

He’d been so nervous all day, anxiously awaiting his reaction to Super Awesome Operation Christmas: Part One (he was working on the name). Whilst he liked to think he knew the other man quite well by now, Daryl had a tendency to have the complete opposite reaction to your expectations. 

For example, how he’d reacted when Paul had tried to wine and dine him before (even now the thought made him roll his eyes and want to curl up into a tiny ball, armadillo style, far away from Daryl’s moody, all-seeing eyes). A candlelit dinner in one of the nicer dining areas of Barrington House, secured just for the two of them. It consisted of questionable potato wine and leftover venison steaks. He’d even used a recipe generously provided by Carol, who’d been simply _delighted_ at the prospect of someone wooing her beloved ‘pookie,’ a mischievous glint in her eyes that Paul knew could easily turn murderous, given enough motive.

Daryl had been the definition of ‘uncomfortable’ throughout the meal. Constantly fidgeting, grunting one word answers whilst avoiding direct eye contact, picking at his clothes. He had worn old clothes, torn and stained - no, not just stained - _bloodstained_ cargo pants and a ragged shirt with the sleeves ripped off. It was Paul’s fault. He had scrubbed up a little for their date, but didn't realise that Daryl wouldn’t have the same idea, not that he cared about that, man could wear a gunny sack and look hot as hell. It’s just that he was clearly uncomfortable and Paul hated to see that. Daryl really couldn’t see how incredible he was, something that astounded Paul. Along with the fact it hadn’t even occurred to Daryl that it was a date. Paul hadn’t been subtle about it either. He’d done it all, the arm stroke, flirting like a fiend, teasing him to turn up on time, _everything_ apart from hold up a sign saying: ‘This is a date Daryl Dixon, you bloody gorgeous bastard!’

So that hadn’t gone as well as he hoped. Ending with a chaste kiss and a fleeing Daryl. He had still been in his shy phase where he’d only spend the night if the sky was falling. Daryl’s main technique of showing interest had been the classic ‘darting quick, surly glances at Paul until he had mercy and made the first move himself.’

Then there had been the other type of unexpected reaction. Paul, training in the dimly lit basement of Barrington House. Normally he’d practice his mixture of martial arts and yoga in the courtyard, but that day he hadn’t felt like being stopped and interrupted by a dozen well-meaning Hilltoppers asking for endless favours. Wanting disputes settled ( _‘I don’t care whose allotment patch it is - share!’_ ), or trying to join in (mostly curious kids and he already taught a class twice a week). That time, he had just wanted to relax. It was kind of a stress release and no one would come down there for the rest of the day. It was just him and the stored harvest.

He’d been wearing navy blue shorts that stopped just below the knee and a fitted black vest, his hair tied up in a neat topknot. He’d just completed a sequence of moves beginning with an arched back, hands in prayer formation, gracefully travelling through a series of jabs and finishing with his own much lighter version of a roundhouse kick, sneakers pointing elegantly. He stretched and soared and the movement felt so good, like dancing. He was sweating lightly and breathing fast from the effort, muscles aching in a real good way. 

And then he heard the gasp. It was one of…well awe, he had to admit. And he knew straight away who it belonged to. So when he was suddenly tackled into a large stack of bagged ground flour, he somehow managed to not pummel his would-be assailant. His assailant who was kissing him so hard, holding his face in shaking hands as though he was something precious. They traced along his jawline, stroked the line of his throat before sliding lower, becoming less gentle. He roughly palmed Paul’s ass so he could lift him, using flour bags for purchase as he encouraged Paul to wrap his legs around his waist. Paul was stunned and more than happy to oblige, locking his arms around broad shoulders, digging in as he passionately kissed back.

Paul could taste Daryl on his lips, raggedly breathed in his masculine scent, dragged his fingers through his hair. Daryl growled in response which made him shiver, before he attacked Paul’s neck with lips and teeth until he was moaning helplessly. Daryl’s hips ground slowly into him, mouth-wateringly hard, pressing against him, twin sets of desire. Daryl’s rough hands slipped under his vest, tracing restless, burning patterns and Paul could barely breathe with how much he wanted him. He jerked into his rough hands, goosebumps rising under his touch.

“How did you..? How long have you-” He couldn’t form a complete sentence, torn between breathlessness, moaning and delighted laughter as Daryl sucked at his skin. He pulled back the necessary distance to really look at Daryl, determinedly brushing hair out of the way. The man looked flushed with arousal. And the way he’d gaped back at Paul was like something close to worship. He’d kissed him harder, all the while trying to repress the idea that they couldn’t do it here, too public, people walking around outside…

But apparently they could manage just fine. 

He had been sweaty and and messy and in absolutely no way trying to seduce Daryl Dixon… But it worked for him. And to this day he _still_ called Daryl a creeper for lingering in the basement like that (he still wouldn’t admit how long, or why, he’d been down there). 

So Paul had come to the conclusion that Daryl never usually reacted like the average man because he _wasn’t_ the average man. Paul had never met anyone quite like Daryl. Or felt this way about anyone other than Daryl.

The man was a beautiful mess of contradictions; shy, strong, silent, powerful, gorgeous, awkward, caring, stubborn, obtuse, clever, resourceful, sweet, dangerous… Paul loved him so much he could hardly think straight around him. He wanted only two things for Daryl. For him to be safe and for him to be happy.

Often it was impossible to achieve the first one. He had to come to terms with that. He would never stop working on the second because of how ridiculously happy Daryl made him. Giddy-happy. Like movie love kind of happy. He had to return the favour. He never knew it could be like this. Never would have suspected he could be fortunate enough find this at the end of the world, with this man in front of him. And so, improvised Christmas had seemed like a good idea at the time, the least he could do - but who knew? Sad Loner Work-Out Paul had really floated his boat, but wine-and-dine Jesus did nothing for him. Man was unpredictable to say the least.

But how Daryl had grinned at the sight of the trailer Christmas had puked on… It had melted his heart. As did the way he kissed Paul so sweetly, with an underlying hunger as he threatened to tear his tacky ‘Jesus Loves You!’ shirt off. It had him a little weak-kneed, he had to confess.

And now they were making out on the battered couch like a couple of horny teenagers and Paul hadn’t even busted out the mistletoe yet. 

“Daryl.” He murmured, pushing him back slightly with a palm to his chest. That was a good chest. A firm chest. And when Daryl acquiesced, eyes all heavy lidded and lips swollen, Paul could only smile softly back at him, heart racing as he traced the beauty spot above his lip with his thumb.

“Hey…” He said gently, as Daryl leaned into his touch, like a cat. Those cheekbones were really something, Paul thought hazily. “Don’t you want to open your presents?” He nodded towards the Christmas tree. There was a large one and a small one, all wrapped up in paper with tiny Rudolphs on it. He was proud of that. As he watched Daryl’s eyes flick over to the tree, he dimly noticed Eartha Kitt purring to her ‘Santa Baby’ on the gramophone. Even he could admit the lady sang a sexy song, especially when Daryl Dixon was sat inches from him.

He saw the moment his words penetrated Daryl’s fog of lust. “I’m trying…” He answered roughly and Paul grinned back in delight. Flirty Daryl was one of the best moods. Daryl pawed at his t-shirt hopefully. He hadn't followed through on his promise to tear it off but the night was young. They had been kissing so sweetly, slow and easy, enjoying every sensation, caught up in the touch of the other. It had been wonderful, gentle, tactile and very exciting.

“Daryl!” He protested, batting his hands away, fake-offended. “You know I’m not that kind of boy - go open your presents!” He commanded.

Daryl’s look of amused skepticism seemed to suggest quite clearly that he knew Paul was most _definitely_ ‘that kind of boy,’ but Paul let it slide. Especially since Daryl was practically pouting. “Didn’t get you anything.”

And Paul smiled at that, he couldn't help it. It just seemed like the kind of day to beam soppily at your boyfriend. Well, it was Christmas.

“Yes you did,” He replied, giving Daryl’s hand a quick squeeze, before fiendishly waggling his eyebrows, lest the day become too sentimental, something he knew Daryl wouldn’t be comfortable with.

“Horndog,” He scoffed, before slipping away with a reluctant sigh, over to the tree. The way he dragged his body away was actually quite a compliment.

Paul couldn't help himself. He bounded over to the tree, not unlike an overexcited puppy and scooped up the presents before Daryl could. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. One of those presents was really heavy.

He plonked himself down on the floor in front of the tree, cross legged, feeling like a little boy again. Daryl raised his eyebrow, smirked, but wisely said nothing.

Paul patted the ground in next to him, ignoring the pine needles that attacked his palm and butt so he wouldn't spoil the moment. They never cover that in the Christmas movies. Felt like he was sat on a hedgehog. 

“You didn’t have ta…” Daryl trailed off as he obeyed, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time all day. 

“It’s stuff we both can use. Promise.” He grinned cheekily, trying to reassure after seeing Daryl’s eyes narrow with suspicion once more. His boy didn’t like being spoiled, couldn't handle the attention though he was getting more comfortable with affection. He’d been crying out for it on some level, and not only in a sexual way. And speaking of…

“Ain’t lube, is it?” Daryl asked, eyeing the smaller present and looking far too shame-faced for someone who has done so many delightful things to Paul’s body. The way he flushed was actually pretty adorable.

“Now that would have been a great idea but no, gutter-brain.” Paul teased, a part of him knowing he did in fact have another related surprise for him but it depended on how well the night went. And as for Daryl’s suggestion, he strongly suspected he’d soon be at the ‘soul-selling’ stage in a couple of years time. There wasn’t an endless supply of the products they needed after all. Even condoms were expiring. He and Daryl would be fine as they were both clean and committed to each other, but it would be tough for the straights.

“You going to open it?” He enquired, trying not to sound too eager, smiling broadly as Daryl switched his attentions to the larger package automatically, the big kid.

“It ain’t gonna explode is it?” Daryl muttered as he reached for it and Paul hoped he was joking. He sometimes wondered if Daryl thought he was some kind of delinquent, the way he teased him sometimes. He watched as Daryl shredded the wrapping paper messily as he knew he would. He looked surprised by how heavy it was and the contents sloshed when moved. He tore through paper to reveal…

A bright red plastic can of gasoline. A _huge_ bright red can of gasoline. 

“Who said romance is dead?” Paul mused, trying to keep a straight face at Daryl’s puzzled expression.

He bit his lip slightly. “Uh, thanks?”

“It’s for your bike.” Paul blurted out, feeling his grin tense a little, a nervous habit he was only recently noticing. He smoothed it over. That was his ‘Jesus’ face and he didn’t need that persona right now. Never with Daryl. “I know you ran out months ago and this is the stuff with special chemicals for your model so you can’t go giving it away…” He trailed off limply, knowing that was probably Daryl’s first thought. “I know how much you miss it.” He added gently.

“Paul…” He put the can on the floor and closed his eyes for a second, gathering himself, and Paul stayed perfectly still, his usual response to nerves along with the smile. He didn’t smile now. It was too much. He knew it. And Daryl didn’t even know how long it took to scavenge this amount, but he probably had an idea. Man was smart. But it was worth it to see him able to ride again, even for a few more days. It made Daryl happy; the freedom it gave him, the sensation of wind in his hair, the roar of the engine. Paul knew he was never that comfortable on a horse. He’d told him about the incident with his crossbow bolt. He’s seen the scar through his middle, traced it with his hands and tongue.

He suddenly had the urge to snatch back the second package. It was stupid.

“Thank you.” Daryl said in a very small voice, devoid of any helpful emotional indicators which was a little bit alarming when combined with his stillness. 

“Said we both could use it. Maybe I could get a ride, stud?” He tried, and when Daryl looked up, he was wearing a little half smile that pleased Paul and made his heart stutter at the sight. _Oh, I got it bad…_

“Take you anywhere,” Daryl answered quietly, eyes dark and serious. Paul felt a thrill of arousal slip down his spine, followed by bone deep relief. Even if he knew Daryl would lecture him later about the risks he’d taken getting the gas. He’d do it in his own terse but direct Daryl way and it would still be worth it.

Suddenly, watching Daryl’s attentions turn to the next package was too much. “Okay, I can’t do this - give it here!” Paul snatched the last present away from him. He’d end up pulling his hair out if he had to go through that suspense once more. He was about to babble again, he knew and he wasn’t usually a babbler. This was proving to be a very trying day. He almost wished they’d just kept making out now. 

He tore off the wrapping paper, avoiding Daryl’s eyes. 

“Hey, that’s my job,” Daryl began to offer a token protest.

“Here you go… He cut Daryl off as he revealed a small, black box and hastily pulled the lid off, realising how it must look to Daryl. “I made the leather strap, because let’s face it, you look damn good in leather. Earl the blacksmith helped me with the charm.” He admitted, pleased when his words flowed from him quite calmly.

It was exactly as he described. A strong but thin braided cord of leather, about the size of Daryl’s wrist, with a small silver charm delicately dangling from it, shaped like an arrow.

“It just seemed very you…Don’t feel you have to wear it.” He was feeling increasingly foolish. It was like giving him a damn friendship bracelet. Any second he expected his skittish lover to run silent-screaming from the trailer. He risked a glance as Daryl took the bracelet, turning it over in his hands so gently, examining it in minute detail. The charm caught the gleam of the candlelight, smooth and elegant, Daryl when hunting. 

And not for the first time that day, Daryl was cupping Paul’s face, fingers stroking along his jawline before pulling him near so he could kiss him firmly. He was insistent, desperate and graceless, sucking on his lower lip and it made Paul’s mind completely short circuit, the rasp of callouses against Paul’s beard, the heat and ferocity of his embrace.

Daryl pulled back just as abruptly as he began, looking a little smug as Paul could only gape up at him, wide eyed. After a couple of seconds he remembered to close his mouth. “You talk too much.” Daryl growled out as an explanation though he didn’t look displeased.

“So I’ve been told,” Paul replied numbly, still stunned and trying not to smirk. He guessed he liked the present then. Daryl rolled the sleeve of his dark blue flannel shirt up, fiddled with the strap before slipping it on his wrist and deftly securing it one handed. It was quite a feat but Paul never doubted he could do it. The leather looked very dark against his skin.

“Should get you one with a cross. Or a mouth.” Daryl suddenly looked less suave and much rosier. “‘Cos you never shut up, I mean. Not because of…anything else.”

It was Paul’s turn to feel a little smug. He got onto his knees, braced his hands on his thighs as he leaned forwards. “Oh really?” He beamed at the older man.

“Shut up.” Daryl snapped, still smiling. He mirrored Paul’s posture, shifting closer.

“You can’t tell me to shut up, I invented Christmas again for you.”

Daryl actually snorted. “Told you before, I ain’t ever calling you Jesus.”

Daryl’s eyes were dark, intensely focused and Paul resolutely decided he could call him anything he liked as long as he kept looking at him like that.

And then they were kissing again, frantically. Daryl’s hands were trailing through his hair, chests pressed together tight and Paul idly wondered if he could feel his heart race. Paul moved his tongue in a familiar rhythm, flesh siding together as his temperature rocketed. Paul gripped at Daryl’s bicep, just enjoying the feel of him under the soft material of his shirt, gave everything he had until it was red hot and all consuming. 

“Ouch!” At least until his hand got skewered by a particularly determined pine needle. “Shit, sorry!”

“Oh God, I hurt you?” Daryl’s eyes were wide with concern so Paul shook his head and laid a hand on his cheek. His face was so warm beneath his fingers.

“No, but our tree has it in for me.” Paul replied, showing Daryl his injury. He stroked Daryl’s cheek once before removing his hand so he could pluck out the needle with a hiss of pain. _A cock blocking pine needle, now I’ve seen everything,_ he thought wryly.

“I’ll burn it.” Daryl answered decisively, eyes flickering wistfully to his canister causing Paul to laugh in surprise. He was in a good mood and was still giving him that look. The one that seemed to suggest he could see right through Paul, in every sense. He knew what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and how he looked under his clothes - naked in every sense of the word. It thrilled and scared Paul equally. He licked his lips and moved little closer, body begging to be near Daryl again. But Daryl was beginning to stand up so he followed helplessly.

“Please don’t burn our Christmas tree,” Paul begged as they found their feet. “It has to last one day at least.”

He soon forgot exactly what he was saying when Daryl took his hand, examining it in complete sincerity. It wasn’t even bleeding anymore and the small kiss Daryl placed upon it was definitely not medically recommended, but Paul felt it all the way down to his toes with a delighted shiver.

“Want your final present?” He murmured as Daryl used his hand to steer him closer.

“Aw c’mon Paul!” He saw Daryl grimace. “No more. You’ve done enough.” 

He raised his eyebrows significantly, wound his arms around Daryl’s neck, reeling him in so he could whisper in his ear, revealing his final ‘gift.’

Daryl almost yelped. _“Really?”_ It came out pretty strangled, which was satisfying. Now that look was one for the ages. Blushing red and shifting against him already. He could feel every inch of him as Daryl crowded closer, using his height advantage yet again. _Lucky me, merry Christmas indeed…_ Paul sang in his thoughts. 

And then Daryl ran an exploratory hand slowly down the back of his t-shirt, following the curve of his spine, causing Paul to shiver from the sensation. Paul knew what he was going to do, bit his lip in anticipation. He gripped Daryl’s shoulders encouragingly, wriggled closer. He loved how much Daryl’s confidence had grown. He tried to keep breathing steadily, lips grazing Daryl’s neck, skin so hot. The other man kept going, hand slipping lower and lower until it was sliding under the material of his cargo pants, determined to feel for himself. The surety of his touch - as though he had propriety over Paul’s body, his soul - never failed to undo him. Paul wasn’t wearing underwear for once and… Paul gasped as those fingers kept going lower, exploring, confirming what Paul had promised. He made a broken noise as Daryl’s finger glided straight into him.

“Oh god,” Daryl groaned, eyes tight shut as if he were the one with fingers trailing so low, pushing in just slightly, circling, teasing and testing. Paul trembled in his arms as Daryl’s fingertips probed the slickness they found there. He had prepared himself, just in case the night went as well as he’d hoped. It was presumptuous, but Daryl’s reaction made it more than worth it.

“Ready for you, if you want.” Paul panted into his ear, voice low and ragged with a promise as he darted his tongue over the shell. Daryl's body thrummed in his arms like a race horse raring to go. 

“Paul,” He groaned, fingertip slipping further inside, applying more pressure. Paul gasped, jerked back into the sensation and then forward against Daryl’s hips, chasing both distinct types of pleasure. His eyes slipped shut and his breath shuddered out of him.

And then Daryl was kissing him hard, holding him close with his free hand, trailing through his hair. His other hand was preoccupied, index finger now slipping in and out of Paul’s body with more certainty until he couldn’t stand still any longer, the pressure a damn tease.

“Okay right now,” Paul gasped out, pulling back just enough to drag Daryl through to the bedroom by the shirt. He lost Daryl’s intimate touch but it was worth it for what would come next. “Fuck me now please, it’s my Christmas too.”

And Daryl’s eyes went wide before he actually had the nerve to laugh. 

“Thought this was how I wanted it?” He chuckled, voice rough with desire and Paul’s knees might have buckled if Daryl hadn’t chosen that exact moment to push him back onto the bed.

“How do you want it?” Paul practically purred once he got his breath back, looking up at him through his lashes, a move he knew Daryl responded well to. 

It worked. The man was on him so fast the bed bounced hard with their combined weight and he nearly rolled overboard. But then Daryl was on top of him, slowly crawling up his body, pushing his shirt up as he went and trailing kisses over the exposed skin, tracking its progress. His facial hair scratched and Paul gasped with pleasure, nerves alight with the contrast, his lips were so soft and damp. Daryl paid particular attention to his chest, his nipples. Callouses running over the sensitive skin until the buds were painfully hard. His hips jerked up helplessly into him of their own accord. Then there was his mouth closing over each nipple in turn, hot, soothing and driving him insane. Daryl applied suction, harder than usual and Paul let out a strangled moan, threw his head back. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was meant to be Daryl’s Christmas. He, Paul, was going to take control, make him lose his mind. Ride him so hard his eyes would roll back. But now Daryl was the one making him melt, breaking his spine, making him lose his composure. He couldn't breathe…

“Nyuh!” It was too much and all a bit of a blur from there on. Daryl found his neck with his mouth. Marked him. Leaned back to admire his handiwork, his confidence a revelation and so bloody attractive.

Daryl paused to pull Paul’s shirt off, then his own. He stared down at Paul, and the heat in his eyes had Paul shivering. Finally, Daryl laid the whole length of his body on top of him. It felt incredible; warm skin stretching for miles. Paul stretched out and it felt heavenly. He looped his arms around him, trailed his fingers down his back, feeling the way his skin rippled over his scars. He loved him completely. Every part. Daryl stared down at him and Paul saw complete acceptance and a determination that he’d seen before. 

Daryl was determined to get him off.

When Daryl finally leaned down, they kissed hard until Paul’s mouth was raw from stubble burn. He gave him everything he had, sucking at his lower lip until Daryl let out a whine, hips pressing down tellingly.

“Any way?” Daryl groaned and it took a few moments for Paul’s mind to catch his meaning.

“What?” 

“Can have you any way I want?’ His accent was thick and feral at times like these and Paul couldn't get enough of it. He shivered with anticipation.

Then Daryl’s words sank in and Paul could only nod eagerly, helplessly. “Uh yeah…” And when Daryl’s eyes narrowed, he realised the hunter needed a little more reassurance than that. He brazened it out. Knew how much Daryl liked his manners, how soft and well spoken he could be, just as much as Paul liked Daryl’s roughness, his raw honesty. He made his eyes go wide, innocent, knew they would look very blue. “Yes please Daryl, I’d like that very much, thank you.”

Then he was being pressed back into the bed as if by a machine.

He ground down against him, deliberately hard, and Paul felt his jaw sag, a ragged moan ripped right out of him. Then Daryl, satisfied with his handiwork (his smug little smile was a delight) pulled back so he could fully undress them both, fluid and functional, not a movement wasted.

It was somehow the sexiest thing Paul had ever seen and that was an achievement. Paul lay back, happy to watch him in a dreamlike state of arousal. Daryl’s muscles rippled, his skin glistened with perspiration and he was simply mouth watering. He watched his tattoo ripple, let his eyes trail down defined muscles, to his softer stomach, the gorgeous flare of his hips, to the hard red curve of him. He stripped away layers until he was only wearing Paul’s bracelet, a twist of leather around his wrist, charm gleaming. It looked so good and right.

“You are so damn sexy,” Paul whispered with compete sincerity, awe in his voice. He thought that Daryl could never hear it enough. He never seemed to believe him. He almost looked startled as he took in those words, hiding under his hair. “Yeah, I see you…” He added softly. And the way Daryl ducked his head, all embarrassed… He was so lovely. Then he found his confidence once more and it was wonderful to see. He eyed up Paul’s body in return, smirking slightly and it made him flush with excitement. 

Then Daryl pounced, pinning Paul to the bed. They both sighed deeply as he lay back on top of Paul.

“Anything I want…” He repeated thoughtfully, voice deep and carnal with intent. “You got yourself ready for me.”

“Yes I did,” It was torn from him, a confession because Daryl kept pressing his hips forward, relentless pressure. Their cocks slid against each other, everything becoming increasingly slick and frantic. He bit his lip again, tried to stay in control but Daryl was undoing him and they had barely touched yet. He thought of the way Daryl’s fingers had slipped inside of him and had to fight not to touch himself. He broke free of Daryl’s grip so he could palm his ass instead, squeezed the shapely warmth of it causing the older man to sigh raggedly. Then he trailed round to the front, touched him where he'd been desperate to touch all night, where he was warm and hard, had Daryl moaning into his skin. His thumb teased his slick head, he felt so ready that Paul's mouth watered.

“How did you…?” Daryl choked off, sounding shy but Paul understood.

“I was thinking about you, when I did it.” He answered breathlessly, no acting required. Daryl moaned against his pulse as Paul circled his length, trailed his hand up and down obligingly as Daryl pushed into his grip. “Thought about this, about us as I opened myself up. Daryl please.” He was starting to beg, control slipping as though he were the one being pulled to pieces. It was quite a talent on Daryl's part. His hardness was pressed between their bodies and he needed more than just friction. His hips jerked up of their own volition and Daryl nipped at his neck in warning before finally relenting.

“Stop," He murmured and Paul reluctantly obliged, not wanting Daryl to finish just yet. "Like this…” He ordered quietly, grabbing one of Paul’s decorative cushions before stuffing it under Paul’s hips. “Stay.” He stared at Paul for one long moment, considering, before reaching over to Paul’s bedside table. He knew exactly what was in there and rummaged around until he successfully located the half full tube of lubricant. Paul watched the process with very keen interest. He took in how Daryl applied some to himself liberally, knowing he wanted him to watch, to stay positioned. He didn’t make a show of it, was quick with his actions, perfunctory, but watching him touch himself, his cock disappearing into his fist, the way he bit his lip was beyond hot. Paul had to look away.

He immediately looked back upon feeling the gentle touch of Daryl’s rough hands smoothing their way up Paul’s calves. The scout could only watch in fascination, trying to keep his breathing under control. Soft touch and rough skin was a combination that was driving him crazy and Daryl wanted him to stay still. He fisted the sheets instead.

Then suddenly, Daryl was gripping the soft skin behind his knees, using his purchase to push up. It took a moment for Paul to understand, his brain wasn’t firing on all levels, and when he did, he followed Daryl’s silent request eagerly. He lifted his legs, folding his body so he was bent double, thighs skimming his chest as Daryl just held him there, pinned him.

His face burned with desire. He was so exposed, wide open, completely without shame. The way Daryl bit his own lip, how his cock twitched at the sight, Paul could barely breathe with how badly he wanted this, seeing the same desire on Daryl’s face, the darkness in his eyes as he took in the sight.

Daryl ran his hands over the backs of his thighs reverently and it broke him all over again. 

“Please…”

In response, he roughly pushed Paul’s knees apart so he could position himself between them, face only inches away from Paul’s and it was so _intimate_. They’d never tried it this way before. Paul panted as he took in Daryl’s flushed face, his blown pupils, the way he couldn't keep still, a warm steady weight between his thighs. Paul wrapped his legs around him and Daryl braced himself, hands flat on the bed. His cock slipped between Paul’s cheeks and they both groaned like animals.

Paul pulled him down for a kiss that was more teeth than anything. His blunt nails scrabbled at Daryl's shoulders. This position didn’t help him breathe deep and his head was spinning. 

“Daryl, please…” He repeated and then, with no warning whatsoever, Daryl pushed in, entered him hard with sharp spiralling pleasure.

All the breath was knocked from him, resulting in a moan he knew Daryl would be proud of wringing from him later on. He hoped no one was outside their trailer… Then promptly decided he couldn't care less as Daryl pulled almost all the way out, before slowly pushing back in, not stopping until he was as deep as he possibly could get. Thanks to his prep, the huge stretch was just on the right side of comfortable, he still felt spilt around him, overwhelmed. He panted and wriggled beneath him, bringing them even closer together.

It was like fireworks, Paul thought hazily, squeezing his muscles around Daryl to feel him better, pulling a strangled groan from him as a result. He laughed breathlessly, still mouthing at Daryl, kissing him hungrily, hands in his hair, keeping him close. Daryl repeated the motion, slow and deep, surely driving himself as crazy as Paul. He was pressing right against Paul’s prostate and it was almost too much at this pace. He practically wheezed as Daryl ground into him.

But he guessed that was Daryl’s intention just before he lost the ability to think coherently because it was _relentless_. The steady pace so hard and deliberately slow, hips pumping smoothly in and out of him. He boggled up at Daryl, barely aware of the sounds that were escaping from him. Daryl’s eyes were dark and feral, face flushed and sweaty, his mouth fell open with a guttural groan. Paul trailed his nails lightly down his spine, stared into his eyes because he knew Daryl liked it. Even though it felt as though he was seeing too much, every little part of Paul Rovia he kept hidden even from himself, even the shitty insecure parts. And Daryl loved him anyway.

He gripped Daryl with his thighs, clenched down on him with his interior muscles until he was gasping, wonderful rhythm faltering, going ragged. But even that wasn't enough to make him go faster. Paul squirmed and wriggled from the intense stimulation. Normally a fast pounding and Daryl’s hand was more than enough to satisfy him. But he suddenly knew that wasn’t Daryl’s intention tonight. He was going to ruin him with his cock alone and it was working. He stared deep into those eyes, cupped his face, body shuddering from pleasure.

He used the bed to push up, to try and meet him half way. If Daryl finished first he’d still have some semblance of control. Could end this relentless pace, find himself some friction. He tired to grind against Daryl's chest, but the angle was all wrong, his leaking cock trapped between them. Daryl deliberately wasn’t taking the hint. He was even wearing a little smirk, the gorgeous git. 

“Fuck…” Paul brazened it out until it had multiple syllables as Daryl pressed into him so smoothly he almost went cross eyed. His lover circled his hips in a new way, smooth and steady, pressed in harder at the new angle until Paul felt like screaming. He slammed his head back into the pillow, closed his eyes as the pressure built, his lower stomach just a mess of heat, balls tight and breath coming out in desperate hitches, punctuated by every brutal thrust. He was so hard he was aching. 

“No,” Daryl snarled, breath washing over him. “Look at me.”

It was too much.

“Please…” Daryl gasped out, the breaks in his voice making him sound particularly vulnerable. 

Paul obeyed and immediately saw that Daryl was almost completely wrecked. Body shaking from the effort, mouth a lush cupid bow that he just had to attack with his own. He was driving himself crazy with this pace. He kissed Daryl like he was the air he needed to breathe. He stared into those eyes, just as Daryl wanted, the old romantic. He was caged in those arms, gorgeous muscles shaking. He turned his head away briefly, just to lick along the line of leather so neatly wrapped around Daryl’s wrist. Couldn’t help himself.

“C’mon, let go…” He gasped out, hands in Daryl’s hair, cradling him, lost in those eyes once more. Happy to be lost.

“Can’t, you first.” And the stubborn determination in his jaw, even as they were tangled like this, made Paul want to laugh, he was so adorable. Instead, he groaned at a particularly savage thrust that nearly hurt. Daryl was losing control.

“Daryl, you can't come like this,” He gritted out, hips snapping up in synch. He was actually seeing lights now, breathing ragged, something very, very good just around the corner. He arched his back to get more pressure and Daryl’s hands found his hipbones, eyes filled with awe. He tipped his hips up, creating a perfect new angle, everything sharp and vivid. “Faster…” He practically sobbed, it felt so incredible. Daryl was manoeuvring his hips in a way that sent sparks thought his body. 

“Nuh uh.” Daryl shook his head, hair flying. “Like this.”

“I hate you…” Paul laughed, not meaning a word of it. He ran his hands down Daryl’s sweat slicked back, all the way down to his ass. He pushed down encouragingly, though it was unnecessary. But it worked. Daryl pushed, pulled back, sharp and staccato, making Paul’s toes curl, ripping a moan right out of him. He threw his head back and pleasure zipped up his spine. 

And then Daryl pushed in just right, angle skewering, deliberately staying inside him. Daryl had been watching him the whole time, finding out what worked. He ground against him, deep inside, a slow purposeful drag against the bundle of nerves that set Paul alight. The again. And again. Paul’s body jerked helplessly. And just like that, sudden an unexpected, he was coming, untouched between them. His body went completely tense, joints locking as though a current were passing through him. He had Daryl in a death lock with his leg muscles, dimly heard the man yelp. Good. It went on and on, sharp pleasure, different than before. Coming from deep inside and spreading through his nerves. He could feel him watching and clenched around Daryl’s cock spasmodically causing him to cry out as the pleasure finally ebbed away to a more tolerable level. His limbs loosened, body going pliant as Daryl pushed in three more times in quick succession, jolting his entire body with how hard it was. And then he felt Daryl finish, slick and warm, buried deep inside before he collapsed on top of him, crushing Paul with his weight. He didn’t mind at all.

Daryl buried his face in his neck and Paul ran his hands through his hair, over and over, body shaking with aftershocks as he tried to regain control. His legs felt like jelly and he knew it would take a while before he could walk steadily again. His entire body tingled as Daryl slowly pulled out.

“Did my head fall off? Think my head fell off.” His voice was slurred and he cursed internally, wishing he could have said something more suave or sexy instead of the first thing that popped into his head.

But then Daryl was roaring with slightly hysterical laughter which made it okay, he guessed.

“You’re a jerk sometimes, you know that?” Paul added sulkily but not really minding. 

“Worked didn’t it?” He could feel the curve of Daryl’s smile against his skin. He wrapped his arms around him, heart feeling full, body utterly content. He traced idle patterns on Daryl’s shoulders with his fingers, humming lightly under his breath for a few moments whilst he got his thoughts together.

He hated to break the silence, their little slice of heaven but he had to ask. “How long have you been waiting to try _that_?’

The reply was pretty rusty. “Too long.”

Paul grinned at that. “You could have just asked, you know.”

“Surprise…” Daryl slurred hot against his skin, ragged breath evening out and Paul knew he was falling asleep on him.

Paul suddenly wanted to know what books Daryl had been reading, or who he’d been talking to very badly, but now wasn't the time. Perhaps it was just his incredible intuition. He shivered at the thought.

“We didn’t even get to Christmas Dinner in a can,” Paul said softly into his skin. He had the strangest feeling, like he was going to start crying because it was so perfect.

Daryl locked his arms around him, “S’never going to happen,” He swore, sounding mildly disgusted even when he was so sleepy. “Shoulda said. Could’ve shot you a nice skunk.”

Paul rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Why are you like this?”

He felt rather than saw Daryl fall into unconsciousness, breath becoming deep and even. Paul vowed not to mock him for it the next morning. It was Christmas after all, and he had certainly earned his rest. Even if Paul’s entire body was going numb under his weight and they’d probably end up stuck together. Paul liked to be clean. He flexed his gluteal muscles experimentally. Could still feel the ghost of Daryl inside of him and tried not to grin too smugly as he held the other man in his arms, finally at peace.

He placed a gentle kiss in his hair. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.” He whispered, and hoped to whoever was listening that they would share many more.


End file.
